Many weddings are exactly alike. A day is chosen for two souls to dive into a new life that is lived as one, a day surrounded by family, friends, and flowers.

This day was a little different.

Each soul came to the occasion with two or three smaller souls. That day Ashley and Aaron did not dedicate their lives as mere husband and wife–they pledged their devotion to the kiddos, too. In a ceremony that was like so many of their family gatherings, love, praise, and laughter ensued, with a few happy tears too. So, that day, a crowd became a family.

As a guest I was blessed to witness this unique union, and to welcome new members to our family.

Cheers to you, and may you always reserve your table ahead of time!

“Bloom where you are planted.”

A small decorative piece hung in Mama’s kitchen wherever we lived, reminding us that with family, we can make any town home. Our environment, living space, friends. We could re-root ourselves, grow and thrive anywhere there was family.

Every time I have visited Washington in the past six years, the cool, moist air always welcomed me as soon as I stepped out of the plane, before I even saw my family. Most roads are lined with forests or farmland, or the coast of the Pacific Ocean. A five-minute drive from  my parents’ house is the restaurant with the best fish and chips in the world. Coffee shops on nearly every street, even in a little town of 5,000. Living in a city in the middle of the desert is so incredibly different–it forced me to appreciate every single moment of home.

I missed it terribly. The place my parents live in the house I spent most of my childhood, where I left my cat because he could not come with me to the dorms. Where I knew people everywhere in town. Where it rains. For months. And then some.

The Valley of the Sun did not feel like home–until I got married. Even before then, I wanted to say my vows somewhere that reminded me of my hometown, with green grass, evergreen trees–no palm trees, cactus, red dust, or slightest chance of a scorpion sighting. Yet since then, after only a few months, the complexity and durability of desert life has become more and more intriguing, instead of a nuisance that kept me away from the infinite bodies of water. I used to ache for this place, this place where I belonged. Now I wonder if I would have loved it so much had I stayed.  For so long I missed my beloved home–nearly unaware that a fondness of the desert was taking hold. Yes, there are gargantuan insects that give me chills, and spikes all over the cacti. And it is outrageously hot, landlocked, polluted, full of irresponsible drivers. Fortunately, roots can grow anywhere.

It took a life commitment to my husband to realize that I live here now. This is where I am, and for as long as we stay here, this is home.